


The Person I See

by Make_It_Worse



Series: Brat Tamer [19]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Amanda is trying but parenting is hard, BDSM, Body Worship, Bottom Connor, Caring Hank Anderson (Detroit: Become Human), Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Praise Kink, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Is a Brat, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Needs a Hug, Connor Needs A Hug, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dominant Hank Anderson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Hand Jobs, Hank loves him anyway, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Love, M/M, Mommy Issues, Pampering, Parent Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Possessive Hank Anderson, Possessive Sex, Praise Kink, Protective Hank Anderson, Self Confidence Issues, Sort Of, Top Hank Anderson, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name, no actual sex but emotional hand job and possessive hand job sound silly, rebuilding confidence, self indulgent smut hours, shower that boy with love, submissive Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22550026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: Connor’s nerves sizzle as Anderson takes his time twisting and knotting intricate patterns. Although still clothed, he can tell by the knotting that it won’t be difficult to navigate around them. By the time Anderson’s done, Connor’s on the verge of shattering.Anderson won’t be the one to break him; not like this.“Connor,” Anderson rests his hand on Connor’s twitching stomach. “What did your mother say that has you so upset?” It might be a little underhanded to start the discussion this way, but Connor didn’t seem to be in any state of mind for conventional conversation. Connor glares at him, catching onto Anderson’s intent much too late.His mouth drops open, ready to snarl out a malicioustapwhen Anderson’s palms his cheek, “You’re hurting. Talk to me.”It’s not fair. It’s dirty to play him this softly.--This is part of an ongoing D/s series. Heed the tags.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: Brat Tamer [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472171
Comments: 23
Kudos: 189





	The Person I See

Anderson isn’t surprised by Connor’s stormy expression when he closes the front door with much more force than necessary. Lunch with his mother rarely went well and almost always resulted in Connor coming home in a thunderous mood. He’d put a stop to these lunches if they weren’t necessary. Connor’s mother was footing a good deal of the wedding expense and it would be gauche to exclude her.

Anderson moves to meet him at the door, but Connor grabs him by the forearm as he barrels by. Anderson spins and stares, trying to assess the situation. Connor stomps off down the hall, clearly expecting Anderson to follow.

“Lunch didn’t go well, I take it?” Anderson asks, crossing his arms as he watches his agitated fiancé.

Connor yanks viciously at his tie until it’s loose enough to pull over his head. It hits the floor with a muffled thump. He meets Anderson’s gaze, his eyes blazing.

“I don’t want to think anymore. I want to forget everything about this horrible, shitty day.” He drops to his knees, yanking a box out from under their bed.

When Anderson doesn’t step into the room, Connor makes a sound approaching a growl before spitting out, “Think you can handle that, _sir_?”

His chest is heaving with unexplained emotions and his chin is set. Anderson knows the look. Connor’s on a trajectory to brat his way into getting what he wants.

 _Not what he needs_ , Anderson thinks to himself.

“Fine,” his voice grows hard and Connor grins victoriously. “Get me the rope.”

Connor’s nerves sizzle as Anderson takes his time twisting and knotting intricate patterns. Although still clothed, he can tell by the knotting that it won’t be difficult to navigate around them. By the time Anderson’s done, Connor’s on the verge of shattering.

Anderson won’t be the one to break him; not like this.

“Connor,” Anderson rests his hand on Connor’s twitching stomach. “What did your mother say that has you so upset?” It might be a little underhanded to start the discussion this way, but Connor didn’t seem to be in any state of mind for conventional conversation. Connor glares at him, catching onto Anderson’s intent much too late.

His mouth drops open, ready to snarl out a malicious _tap_ when Anderson’s palms his cheek, “You’re hurting. Talk to me.”

It’s not fair. It’s dirty to play him this softly.

Anderson has him sprawled across the bed like a specimen he intends to dissect. Connor turns his head away. Anderson has seen him cry dozens of times before, but this is different. This is defeat. His mother had finally landed one cutting critique too many and he’s buckling under the weight of her scrutiny. He doesn’t want Anderson to see him like this. Pathetic, weak, and undeserving.

“Sweetheart,” Anderson pulls out the big guns and Connor cringes hard. Even Anderson must think he’s a tragic mess.

The longer Connor remains silent, the more he’s certain he must be fanning the flames of Anderson’s anger. He’s blatantly refusing to answer him. He doesn’t want to replay the conversation over again in his head. He doesn’t want to say the words out loud. He wants Anderson to tear him apart and decimate what remains of him. He wants to disappear into pleasurable sensation and hide there.

Connor startles hard enough to make the headboard sway when Anderson runs his fingers through Connor’s hair. His hand continues down Connor’s neck until it reaches his loose shirt collar.

“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” Anderson rumbles above him and Connor shivers on instinct. Whatever Anderson’s about to say, it’s not a request. “I’ll ask you questions, and for every satisfactory answer I get, I’ll open one button.”

Connor turns back to meet his gaze warily. Anderson might wreck him after all if he plays his cards right. Still. The stinging burn of humiliation threatens to rub him raw if he talks about it. He also knows Anderson isn’t going to let this go. He’ll likely keep Connor here all evening, feed him dinner in bed if he has to.

Connor’s body sags and Anderson knows he’ll capitulate before he mutters a sullen, “Fine.”

“Good,” Anderson strokes a thumb across Connor’s cheek, intending to rebuild him one compliment at a time. He knows Amanda means well, but her delivery method left a lot to be desired. She didn’t appear to have any notion of how small she made her children feel in her misguided attempts to better them.

Anderson starts with an easy underhanded pitch, “Did your mother say something to upset you?”

Connor nods and, true to his word, Anderson slips the first button free. Connor had already ripped open the top button in his haste to yank off his tie. Thick fingers trace over Connor’s exposed collarbones as he readies his next question, “Was your brother there?”

Connor gives Anderson a confused look as he shakes his head. Anderson gives him an unreadable little smile as he works open the next button. It might not make sense to Connor, but it was always harder to repair Amanda’s damage if Niles had witnessed it. The effects lingered if Amanda had an audience.

“Was it about the wedding?” Anderson’s fingers are already on the next button as he asks the question and Connor whispers a strained _yes_. Connor’s heart throbs through his skin and Anderson rests his hand over it, “You’re doing great, Con. You’re safe; she can’t hurt you here. Keep talking to me.”

Connor’s only said two words to Hank since this charade began, but he’s baby stepped Connor as far as he can at this point. He’s going to need to expose the injury for Hank to tend to it.

“What did she say to you?” He taps the next button that rests over his belly button and Connor’s stomach lurches.

“It’s about the money,” he closes his eyes, trying to pick his words to say the least amount possible while conveying the meat of the conversation.

Anderson opens the final button of Connor’s shirt, spreading it wide to survey his torso. Connor’s body is a treasure map of secret freckles and moles. Connor’s nipples contract at the sudden rush of air and Anderson thumbs at the tight bud. Connor exhales a shuddery sigh at the touch, temporarily distracted from his agitation.

“I have more questions,” Anderson pinches teasingly at the other nipple and Connor tries to glare. The sensual heat lingering in his gaze mars it slightly.

“You’re in luck,” Connor bucks up as much as he can in his restraints. “I have more buttons.” His voice lacks enthusiasm, but any sign of his usual brattiness is a good one.

Anderson arches an eyebrow at him, “Indeed.” He runs his fingers under the edge of Connor’s pants like a promise, “Tell me what’s going on with the money.”

It’s the part he doesn’t want to say, but Anderson rubbing his palm tantalizingly over the crotch of Connor’s slacks is an effective motive.

“She’s not—it’s not a gift.” Anderson frowns, but stays quiet and lets Connor work out what he wants to say. If Amanda wanted them to pay her back, that was fine by him. He’d rather not let her lord it over them anyway.

“I mean, it is,” Connor begins again. “But she said…she thinks we can’t afford it. Because of me. Because Elijah fired me.” Immediate, fire-hot rage burns under Anderson’s skin. He reins it in and keeps it at a simmer on a backburner. Later, he will have a chat with his future mother in law. For now, he’s devoting all of his attention to Connor.

“That’s why she’s giving us the money,” Connor’s voice pitches high as if something is stepping on his throat. “She thinks I’m a pathetic loser that can’t afford a wedding. She doesn’t want me to be embarrassed by my wedding photos because I went cheap on things.” With the dam broken, nothing can stop the waterfall pouring from Connor’s mouth.

Anderson unties Connor’s legs as he rambles, letting them rest easy on the bed. By the time he finishes with Connor’s arms, Connor has talked himself out of words. Even without the restraints, Connor remains spread-eagle as if too emotionally drained to move.

He leans down, kissing Connor’s shoulder as he works open Connor’s slacks. A single tear slips from the corner of Connor’s eye to disappear into his hair. Anderson hauls him into a sit, helping him slip his arms out of his shirt.

“Come here,” he pulls at Connor’s wrist lightly, encouraging him to sit between Anderson’s thighs. At the foot of the bed, they’re aligned with the mirror. Connor looks away, not wanting to see his blotchy, stupid face.

Anderson rubs his palms over Connor’s thighs as he speaks gently against his ear, “I’ll tell you what I see.”

One huge hand palms Connor’s head, raking through his hair a touch harder than platonic. His nails graze over Connor’s scalp sensually and Connor’s skin sings in response as gooseflesh ripples across his arms.

“I see someone who’s incredibly intelligent. Someone who graduated at the top of his class and was hand-selected by a premier organization.”

Connor’s lips press in a presage of interruption, but Anderson beats him to it, “Never mind that clown they got rid of. They hired you without ever seeing you. They wanted you for your talent.”

Connor closes his eyes as Anderson snakes a hand around his middle to rest on Connor’s neck, “I see someone who tries his best to be good.” Connor shivers, his subconscious anticipating the praise even if his waking mind doesn’t believe he deserves it, “You’re always so good for me, Connor.”

The hand tenses around Connor’s throat, not choking but possessive. Anderson tilts his head to nibble at the sensitive skin of Connor’s neck, staking his claim to it. Connor’s pulse jumps wildly and he cracks open his eyes to watch. He may not want to meet his own gaze, but he can never resist watching Anderson work. He filled his role as if the mold for dominance was handmade for him.

Anderson’s hand relinquishes Connor’s throat to rest over his heart, “I see someone I love very much.” The words come out quiet but they crack like thunder in Connor’s ears. He twists and reaches up to pull Anderson into a kiss. Anderson lets him have the moment. If he’s going to be exceptionally soft, he may as well embrace it fully.

Well-practiced fingers slip into the waist of Connor’s boxers, stroking him to full hardness. Connor moans against Anderson’s lips and Anderson nods to the mirror. Connor meets Anderson’s reflected gaze and his breath quickens. Anderson looks like a man prepared to devour his prey.

Working Connor free from his briefs, Anderson watches Connor’s face slacken with pleasure as he pumps his length. Anderson flips his grip and a soft whimpered sound dances up Connor’s throat and across his tongue.

Anderson’s lips move against Connor’s ear, his voice nearly a growl as he speaks, “I see someone who sings beautifully when he’s unraveling in my hands.” Anderson’s thumb swipes across the head of Connor’s flushed cock, pulling a breathy _ah-ahh_ from Connor’s lips to underscore his point.

“S-Sir,” it’s not a scene, not really, but Connor can’t stop the designation from sneaking out of his mouth. He wants to warn him, let him know he’s close.

“I know,” Anderson’s tone is smug like there’s no secret Connor’s body could hide from him. He isn’t wrong. Connor had given Anderson the keys to his heart long ago. He can read his body like a well-loved book.

“Please,” the word comes out frantic and Connor isn’t certain what he’s asking permission for.

Anderson smiles, crooning his delight, “I see someone who is mine. Someone I intend to protect and keep safe for the rest of my life.”

Connor shivers and feels wildly close to crying again. He’s emotionally wrung dry and his chest heaves in desperation for release. Anderson’s grip tightens and Connor tries to pitch forward. Anderson’s other arm locks across his torso like an unyielding iron bar.

He can tell he’s red-faced without looking at his reflection. He’d feel hideous and worthless like an unlovable slug if it weren’t for Anderson’s very particular attention. He knows Anderson’s telling him the truth. He knows what Anderson sees when he looks at Connor. As he wavers on the edge of release, it’s not his mother’s words making a nest in his heart.

Anderson’s voice throbs in his head when an unstoppable wave of desire begins to surge from deep within his stomach.

_So good for me._

_Someone I love very much._

_For the rest of my life._

“Say it again,” Connor begs for Anderson’s approval, but it’s an unnecessary request. Anderson hasn’t been able to deny Connor a thing for as long as he can remember.

“You are perfect,” Anderson murmurs as he works Connor closer to a frenzied oblivion. “You are mine.”

Connor’s breath hitches and Anderson times his next words to hit him hardest, “I love you.”

Connor sobs out an overwrought sound that could be Anderson’s name as he comes. He shakes through his release, his thighs trembling as he moans and whimpers little noises of pleasure. Anderson watches him through it all, cataloguing every sound and expression.

Connor collapses to the mattress when Anderson stands. He could fall asleep here and now with come drying on his belly. Anderson won’t let him, but he’s not going to participate in this cleanup. Anderson hums a vaguely familiar but slightly off-tune song as he puts Connor back together.

Only once Anderson has Connor comfortably dressed in pajama bottoms and one of his oversized sweaters does he let Connor sleep. He can’t let him doze long or he’ll never go to bed tonight, but he’s earned a rest.

Pulling out his phone, he’s on the verge of ordering Connor’s favorite garbage food for dinner when Amanda’s name flashes across the screen.

Opening the text, he huffs out a sound of shock.

_> >This is uncomfortable for me, but I’ve upset Connor. I owe him an apology, but I wanted to reach out to you. He cares a great deal more about what you have to say than I do at any rate. Please take care of him. I want him to be happy even if it doesn’t always come across that way._

“Well. How about that?” He responds back to her with a reassurance and places an order for General Tso’s chicken, wonton soup, and four egg rolls. He doesn’t often indulge Connor’s baffling love for sodium-heavy delivery food, but it’s easy and it’ll make Connor smile.

He prods Connor out of bed half an hour later, quietly content with Connor’s much-improved frame of mind. They camp out on the couch to eat as Connor huddles under the blanket he’d pilfered from their bed. He leans against Anderson when he’s done, warm and full and complete.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake).


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